


Flowers of Jealousy

by svmbra



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Betrayal, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Ib Game AU, If you've played the game you know how it goes, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 06:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11270094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svmbra/pseuds/svmbra
Summary: A gallery celebrating the works of an artist, a trio of roses, and a painting.





	1. Gallery

**Author's Note:**

> Ib is owned by kouri

_In the early afternoon, under a gray sky..._

 

_Akira and his parents were on their way to an art gallery..._

 

“ _Did you remember everything, Akira?”_

 

“ _Oh! Did you remember your handkerchief? The one we got you for your birthday? Keep it safe in your pocket, okay? Don't lose it!”_

* * *

It was difficult to fully appreciate the gallery immediately walking in, despite the artist having some notoriety from what Akira can recall from talking to Ann. Ichiryusai Madarame, that's the name that kept coming up in those talks and yet the art on the pamphlets was totally unrecognizable to him. From what he could still remember the artist rarely took in pupils, and was known for a wide variety of styles. He was something of a local celebrity and Akira wouldn't be surprised if he was known overseas. Of course, he knew _nothing_ of art, so it wasn't as though he could tell the difference (or for that matter, care). Still, his parents thought it would be a nice trip together as a family. They never really went out together—hell even his sister couldn't make it because of a cold—and so here he was at a gallery of an artist he didn't know, scoping it out as his parents grabbed pamphlets and paid the entrance fee.

 

“This is your first time in an art gallery, right, Akira?” his mother asked, turning to look at him. His focused snapped back to her from a crowd a little ways ahead and gave her a nod before his attention was taken up once again by the poster behind the reception desk. If he was going to be honest, he didn't know what to expect but he could feel adrenaline behind his elbows as he took it all in. If only Futaba was here, then maybe he wouldn't be _as_ nervous. “You know, the artist Madarame not only has paintings but sculptures. I think you'll really enjoy it here.”

 

“Do you think I could go on ahead then?” The crowd once again had his interest and he so very much wanted to see what they were looking at, although he silently lamented the “NO PHOTOGRAPHY” sign. His mother shot him a look and sighed.

 

“I... suppose. Just stay out of trouble, okay? You're still, um,” she leaned in ever so slightly and gave a glance around, “on probation. Though, it is still just a gallery...” She twisted the bracelet on her wrist with a small smile.

 

“He'll be fine, Wakaba, he's usually quiet anyways.” This time his father spoke up, shrugging slightly. He was twisting his watch on his wrist but still managed to look composed. Still, he offered a chuckle and a fatherly shake of the head. “He's in his school's uniform anyways, he wouldn't risk it.”

 

With that, Akira made a beeline for the room across from him and into a crowd of gasping people. One by one they slowly moved around the room and he could see a painting on the wall of a red person in a dress scolding a blue child as they played the piano. It wasn't completely abstract yet it was surreal enough that it, well, _fascinated_ him. It was fairly large with a level of detail he'd never seen in person. As people eventually got their fill of whatever it was in the center, he slipped himself through the gaps they made as they left and joined in on the gasps of patrons. “Whoa.”

 

The painting—no, _mural—_ was roped off and much more massive than he'd originally thought. Bigger than the painting nearby on the wall. It was the art used on the pamphlets and posters, but the real thing was something altogether. Dead in the center was a realistic depiction of fishes as they swam about in the deep sea, with an angler fish in the middle of it all and its big black eye stared up at him. The edges of the mural were expertly painted to look like a hole in the ground and the level of almost impossible detail made him dizzy and his heart race. It was so real and a part of him wanted to fall forward into it, hoping that water to greet him instead of the cold floor. His head was swimming along with the fishes in front of him and he quickly stepped back to leave the crowd only to have an arm wrapped around his waist.

 

“My, you're here for not even ten minutes and already I see Stendhal syndrome,” an older woman teased. She grounded him as she pulled him away from the breathtaking piece of art and where they were filled in immediately. She didn't know him and was much nicer than most of the other patrons (who all thought she was just his mother so he felt a little less self conscious). Of course, she couldn't stay glued to him and nudged him off to the next room. Like a regular art gallery, paintings were hung normally against the walls and more importantly there were no crowds that Akira could see. A sigh of relief left him while he leaned against the white walls, quietly thanking her. “There's less people so take your time okay? _Breathe._ It happens all the time.”

 

The next room was more like a hallway that looped around and connected back to the main attraction, but it was a welcome change. In comparison the paintings here didn't nearly inspire the same heart pounding reaction but were still nice to look at. Turning the corner, he was somewhat surprised to see four glass cases taking up the entire hall. As he walked past, the containers glistered and sparkled with an intensity that hurt his eyes but were nonetheless lovely to look at. Getting closer, he could see hundreds of smaller glass stars within every container, pulled and shaped with master hands. He would've taken a photo but the security guards nearby took one look at him and he hurried himself along.

 

Right before the corridors turned back into where the crowd still was gathered was a porcelain sculpture of a red rose, twisting at the bottom as though it were a rope or snake and shooting straight up, the thorns looking almost deadly. It was taller than him, yet despite the size it looked delicate enough he briefly held his breath for fear of toppling it over. Looking at it gave him a feeling in his gut that was hard to explain, but he could feel the adrenaline building up behind his elbows again.

 

With the bottom completely explored as far as he could tell, Akira made his way up the stairs and found many more sculptures than before (as well as a single window, which was only sightly concerning). He walked leisurely, taking in the people just as much as the artwork. There were a few that definitely had a few glasses of wine and one man who had more than that all in heated discourse over a trio of mannequins; one guy in an odd jacket and a part in his hair stared hard at a modern rendition of the hanged man; a small crowd gathered around a man with a younger woman with peach colored hair admiring them instead of the artwork; and a reporter diligently writing down her thoughts as she switched her attention from a twisted red and white couch and her notepad. The sculptures here were more interesting and dynamic from a melting woman to a large rubber ball with knives. They were fun to look at, but Akira couldn't understand this level of modern art on his own without his mother.

 

Finally, he made his way into a long corridor, a massive painting taking up the full length. It wasn't nearly as impressive as the mural down below; in fact with the way the paints were streaked across the canvas it reminded him more of finger paintings he'd do as a child. The size alone was impressive, but that was about all there was to it.

 

“' _Fabricated World'_? How did this end up at an exhibition...? Looks like some toddler made it,” Akira sighed. He was acutely aware that nobody else was in the hall with him and relaxed some, not having to worry about the haughty stares of patrons that _knew_ they were richer than him. They pissed him off but really couldn't afford to make a scene, his parents didn't need anything else on their plates. His relaxation was interrupted when the lights flickered loudly and he jumped in his spot. The itching feeling under his skin was back as his heart sped up when he couldn't hear anyone anymore.

 

Of course, when he left the hall the reason for it was that nobody was there.

 

He could feel his heart quicken for what seemed like the millionth time that day but then anxiety slowly started to set in as fear. No crowd fawning over the two people he saw, no reporter in front of the couch, no patrons in general.

 

“Um... hello?” Calling out, his voice echoed and besides that heard nothing at all. No mulling of the crowd, no hushed chats, no sounds of life. Fear squeezed his heart a little harder. _Maybe they all moved downstairs?_ he tried to reason, quickly running to the stairs and refusing to acknowledge that there was now fog on the windows.

 

Halfway down the stairs the lights turned off with a series of pops, sending shards of glass onto the floor of the gallery and causing Akira to scream and fall back. A sinking feeling worsened the anxiety pangs and a heavy slithering, slapping sound was heard somewhere throughout the gallery to replace the sounds of patrons. He turned and scrambled back up the stairs nearly dropping his glasses when a black figure moved past the foggy window. “God where the _fuck_ is everyone?”

 

Loud slamming against the window answered him and he jumped a foot in air. “Fuck! This isn't fucking funny!”

 

He hurried through the halls, not caring anymore about behaving. Nothing was making sense and everyone was gone and he _screamed_ because an apple did not just fall from a painting. It looked like frozen paint, still dripping red yet keeping its shape as fruit. Backing away only to jump at the mewl from a cat painting, he let out a shaky sigh. “That didn't just happen I—this has to be Stendhal syndrome right? Didn't—didn't mom say that it can cause hallucinations?”

 

And then he was back with that childish painting, only there was blue paint leaking from the bottom of the frame. He cautiously made his way towards it, his breathing hitching when he realized the paint was starting to form _words_ right in front of him. Before he could make out what it said, noises like a large stamp being brought to paper were heard behind him, making him jump and turn with all the grace of a wet rag.

 

“COME AKIRA”

 

With labored breathing he turned to read the blue paint—ink?

 

“come down below akira ill show you someplace secret”

 

This had to be a cruel joke. None of this could be real and yet the terror in the pit of his stomach told him otherwise. His heart skipped several beats and he sprinted as far as he could away from the now sinister looking painting. Downstairs was no better than upstairs: downstairs was marginally worse than whatever was upstairs. The windows were locked and one of them started leaking what he hoped was red paint when he pulled too hard and the front doors were locked and fogged up with no hope of seeing through it. The slapping noise grew louder too, and Akira was sure that it was coming from the mural.

 

If the mural before looked close to real, it looked horrifyingly real now. Whatever fishes he saw originally where all gone, replaced with a darkness that moved if he stared long enough. Footprints in blue paint leading towards the edge and disappeared, and the railings were pushed aside. Whatever it was that wanted him to follow, walked into the mural and wanted him to follow.

 

“Oh no this—this isn't real. I—I can't walk into that can I? ...Can... I...?” Akira's hands trembled and it was so hard to breathe. He'd like to think he was more composed than this, thinking himself as a decent actor. He could stand up and shove a man assaulting a woman, even if it _did_ lead him to be arrested. This—this however wasn't anything that he could prepare for. The museum felt too _alive_ and it _scared_ him. Was this what a panic attack felt like? Or was it the beginning of one? He only knew that his chest hurt and he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

 

It also made him want to cry in a little ball in the corner, but there was no time for that.

 

Closing his eyes, he made what would soon be the worst decision of his life and ran forward towards the mural. His legs gave out underneath him and water slammed into him from every angle, knocking out all of the wind from his chest. Free falling was the closest thing he could describe the feeling that followed, lasting a moment before his feet hit stairs and he tumbled forward _dry_. The room he fell into was blue, with two mirrored paintings in red and blue on one side. He wanted to get up, but it was so hard to breathe and the floor felt like heaven.

 

It took a few minutes, but Akira managed to catch his breath and collected what he could of himself. Now was the best time to reflect the situation.

“I'm in a weird room inside of a painting. There's no way this can be real. I'm probably going to need therapy after all of this. And I need to find some way out.” His breathing eased once he stood back up though he needed to lean against a wall for added support. Nothing made sense but it didn't matter anymore, finding a way out of this _hell_ was imperative.

 

At one side of the elongated room was a locked door next to a drawing of a geometrical fish—which was a dead end as far as he was concerned. The other side's walls were covered with _'Come come'_ and had a door blocked by a single rose in a glass vase, eerily similar to the sculpture back in the gallery. It was missing a few petals but was otherwise in good health. “Well, it's a nice flower, it _probably_ won't kill me,” he murmured, gently lifting the flower from its confines. He thought of his part time job at a flower shop, making bouquets for customers and slipped the rose as gently as he could up his sleeve.

 

Pushing the desk was easier not having to worry about knocking over the rose (though he was mindful of the vase full of water) and to his relief the door behind it was unlocked. Inside a painting of a woman, her hair spilling from the frame filled up the far wall and a key in the middle of the floor. It was a trap—he knew that much—but that key was his only hope in this place. He quickly grabbed it, shuddering when the portrait opened her eyes with a wicked smile. “Oh don't you _dare,_ ” he warned.

 

Under her was a poster—instead of the normal plaque—that read ' _When the rose rots, so too will you rot away_.' A cursory glance to the rose still in his sleeve sent chills up his spine and the sinking feeling from earlier returned. The feeling intensified when he stepped out of the room to see _'THIEF'_ in dark red lettering scattered all over the walls. By the desk was a new poster that said _'You and the rose are unified, know the weight_ _of your own life.'_

Something in his subconscious screamed at him to put the rose back into the vase of water, so when he lowered it in he very nearly dropped it when several petals grew back when the stem touched water. A rush of energy hit him and his breathing eased, though his anxiety worsened by comparison. The vase was empty now, and a pattern looking too much like roses appeared on his wrist—like a tattoo or paint. The room started to spin when _'GIVE IT BACK'_ came up from the floor in front of him with a noise like stamps, and he fell against a wall.

 

“Where am I...?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written anything in years and this is unbeta'd so criticisms are welcomed! (So are betas aha) English also isn't my first language so PLEASE let me know if something doesn't sound right!


	2. Green and Yellow

Wherever he was, Akira, frankly, hated it.

 

The blue door opened up to a C-shaped green room with pictures of insects and a _talking ant,_ as though the world he was in couldn't get weirder _._ There as also the hall that said _'Beware of edges'_ where it finally occurred to him just what it meant that he and his rose were unified. Black, inky hands shot out from the wall with a strength that sent him to the ground in pain when he got too close to the edge. The rose he was sure he protected lost several petals and even wilted in his pocket in accordance to his several broken ribs. Despite the evidence, a part of him wanted to test the theory just a bit further, so he plucked exactly the last two outer petals, doubling over with a cry as pain wracked his body. Popping was felt in his chest and something told him that whichever ribs almost broke surely did, leaving him gasping.

 

Only a few inner petals were left and Akira just _knew_ he would die if those were gone. Granted, he would also die if he were injured enough like by _those stupid arms_ , but he digresses. He still didn't know why he and the rose were connected like this, but he was in no place to try and rationalize what was happening; after all there was a talking ant in the room and inky arms wildly flailing from the walls.

 

He had a painting of an ant now—or well, _the_ ant, since it asked him to grab it—in his hands. Following the incident with the arms and rose, he'd wandered aimlessly around in a longer hall with the life cycle of a butterfly, coming across a room after some time with a large hole in the middle of the floor. He could jump across perfectly fine, but the depth and jagged edges made him want to find some sort of insurance. He couldn't risk losing the flower and possibly dying. Every other frame was glued to the walls, all except the painting of the ant.

 

“This is stupid but I can't risk dropping the flower,” he murmured, gently setting the frame over the hole and quickly stepping forward. The glass and the backing cracked under his weight but to his relief it still held up. Might as well explore the room ahead of him and try to find some way to get through to the locked green door some ways away. So far the whole area just felt like the worst maze he'd ever been to; a maze that left him feeling like he was close to dying each time he made a wrong move.

 

Ah yes, sure enough, in front of a mannequin and a nearby painting of a spider eating the butterfly was a green key on the floor. He sighed, loud. “So how is this going to go, huh?”

 

He picked up the key, and wished he hadn't.

 

The mannequin creaked unnaturally and smooth porcelain started moving like limbs, stepping forward with jerking movements. Stone and metal moved like it were flesh and moved forward with a growl that'd haunt him in his sleep. Panic overtook him and he sprinted back towards the room as it chased him down running. Running over the painting he slammed his foot down hard, forcing a hole through it and continued, praying it was enough to deter the monster. In the hall he heard the _crash_ of porcelain on concrete, shuddering as he remembered the way it had moved like flesh. He had the key, he didn't need to go back and see the carnage.

 

* * *

 

 

The next area split off into two rooms and looking at him was a vaguely cat-like wall with an indentation that looked like a fish. Akira cursed internally, damning his bad luck. He went to the right room first, seeing the large busts and wanting to get whatever he had to do over with as fast as he could.

The room was small, like a storage room with a scroll of a red rose and boxes of art supplies and Grecian busts as well as a small bump in the floor. He hopped over it easy enough and dropped his withered rose in the vase of water, feeling his bruises and wounds close up with a sickening feeling. His body was fixed, but he felt that it came at the cost of his mental health.

His back still turned to the threshold, he heard scraping, not too different from stone being dragged across the ground. The anxiety he had from the whole mannequin ordeal was still there and as much as he _really_ wanted to turn around, he couldn't. His feet were paralyzed with fear and all he could do was pick up the rose from and hold it close to his chest, mindful of its petals. More scraping from behind.

 

Moving closer.

 

Closer.

 

_Crash!_

 

Akira whipped around with a yelp, clutching his rose close to his chest. A bust that moved from its spot was in pieces in front of him, having tripped over a bump in the floor he didn't notice. Inside the clay carnage was what seemed to be a...

 

“That's... Not a fish tail is it?”

 

Like he was going to question a lucky break. He grabbed the tail and ran out of the room, ignoring the yellow paint that dripped down onto his shoulder.

 

The next room was bigger, with eight pillars spaced out in the middle, seven with curtains and bottoms of frames peaking out and one with a stick figure painted directly on the one closest to him. Walking past it, yellow paint seeped through the walls, spelling out _'Play hide and seek?'_ Before he could even think about responding, the stick figure vanished and yellow buttons—made of paint _of course—_ appeared beneath each pair of curtains. He _really_ didn't want to play the game, but it wasn't as though he had much of a choice.

 

But god, did he really _really_ hated this game.

 

The first button he pressed was directly below where the figure was and when the curtains parted they revealed the painted, naked form of a woman, who immediately screamed and slapped him, reaching outside of her frame, hitting him hard enough to knock out one of his teeth. When his double vision returned to normal, Akira saw the curtains back in place. The next curtain was to the left of her, only revealing a music note with _'OUT'_ written over it. He cocked an eyebrow. Of course, like any normal person he sighed—or at least tried to. The air rushed out but only silence accompanied it.

 

He stamped a foot. Nothing.

 

Kicked the wall. No noise.

 

Hell, he even pressed the button on the woman again and heard nothing—the second and third teeth and throbbing headache taught him a very valuable lesson however.

 

The one next to the music note was a quick stroke of red paint on a black background. He furrowed his brows and reached forward to touch it, stopping when something slashed at his chest and he crumbled forward with a _silent_ cry. His uniform was intact, but a wetness seeped through his shirt and dyed it red with a burning pain that stretched across his chest. Looking at his rose, once again only the inner petals remained, a drying and miserable looking thing in his pocket. Akira forced himself to stand, feeling anxiety grab onto his chest and spin the room he was in.

 

He avoided the last picture in the row, instead going to the middle button of the top row. The painting was a fairly nice moon, and the room darkened to match the night sky. If it hadn't been for silence, he'd have even cracked a shitty joke. The change was nice and _not_ at all harmful, so Akira was thankful for it. The next painting however, was anything but.

 

It was a painting of a boy in a black uniform and glasses hanging, waves underneath him, not too far off from the hanged man on tarot cards.

 

But this wasn't just any boy.

 

It was a painting of him, hanging.

 

_Dead._

 

He walked over to the last button in the row, seeing the stick figure against a white background and he sighed _silently,_ shaking and numb. Yellow words seeped into view again: _'Found me, you get prize.'_ and Akira heard something wooden fall to the floor. He looked over and saw another frame in the far back, a fish cleaved in half, the fish head on the ground instead of in the frame where it should've been. To his relief it fit perfectly into his fish tail and rushed out of the room.

 

Inserting the key caused the room to shake and fill with a cacophony of meows (and he may or may not have screamed something along the lines of 'Oh thank _god!')._ The walls in front of him dropped down into the ground one by one until it made a hallway to the next set of rooms. He took a deep inhale, then slumped over onto the floor on the exhale, trying to push away the impending panic attack as best as he could. He thought back to how Futaba dealt with hers, how she would focus on her breathing and count as she inhaled and exhaled slowly. Maybe she could refer him to her therapist, god knows he'd need therapy if he ever got out.

 

* * *

 

  

The next area was larger, with a painting with a waggling tongue that had spat at him when he got too close and a white canvas with the smallest _'9'_ he'd ever seen, and a hand that slammed into him right after seeing a discarded plaque _'Just when you'd forgotten.'_ that took two inner petals. To the far right near the entrance was a sign reading _'BEWARE OF LIPS'_ with—sure enough—a pair of lips in the hall that asked for food, trying to bite him when he said he had nothing. It was just as much of a hellhole as the last area. Maybe a little worse than hell if he were being honest with himself.

 

Maybe this is where sinners go instead of hell. Could he count himself as one? The memory of how he got to be on probation replayed in his head, remembering shoving away a man before he could force himself on her. How  _he_ got arrested instead, and how the woman testified  _against_ him, leading to his very own criminal record at only 16. At least his parents—well,  _adoptive_ parents—had his back. If they didn't...

 

He snapped back to reality when he felt a sharp pain in his palms, and he realized that he was clenching his hands so hard his nails were starting to dig in and that he was shaking. No, there was no time for this.

 

One of the areas just past the hallway with the arm was a room called _'Room of Liars'_   lined with paintings with yellow writing under each one, either giving instructions for the room beyond it in regards to a statue or agreeing with another figure. It was a puzzle, he was sure of that much, but he had to figure what was the trick (he couldn't afford losing anymore health, not while he was swaying on his feet). At least, he hoped he could figure it out. He considered the ones that gave directions and which paintings gave their support for that figure and saw that the one in brown didn't have any other paintings giving them support, and decided to trust them. There was a feeling in the pit of his stomach, and wondered that meant anything significant (he prayed it didn't).

 

The room with the statue had lose tiles of squares surrounding it, each tile representing a step. “So... four steps to the east then two steps north from the statue...”

 

A loose tile he pulled up had a blue _'4'_ on the back, and noises from the other room were heard clearly. Slashing noises, the breaking of glass and the ripping of canvas and stopped just as suddenly as it started. He walked out and greeting him were all of the paintings dripping with red paint, the brown painting destroyed and the rest of them with knives he hadn't seen before. All of them said _'Liar!'_

 

Needless to say he didn't stay in that room for any extra time.

 

The rest of the upper hallway had hanging dolls, not unlike the painting he had seen (which worsened the anxiety and nausea if he was being honest with himself) and a door with a keypad. Before he could get to said door, one of the dolls fell in front of him, a distinct tab on its rear and a green _'18'_ written on it. When it dropped he swore openly and nearly kicked the thing, but figured that that was a _very_ stupid idea. The door was locked and had a small bronze plaque right above it with the code: a green question mark multiplied by a red one, with a blue question mark being added to the product.

 

“Are you fucking serious? The next puzzle is _math_?” He stared hard at the door, hating the stupid lock of revolving numbers with every passing moment. Groaning, he threw his head back and rubbed at his temples. Well, it wasn't as if he had much of a say in the matter anyways.

 

“Shit—so eighteen times, what, nine? Nine times eight is seventy-two, so two carry the seven... One—seven plus nine is—it's one six two right? Plus four would make it one sixty-six?” His head throbbed with numbers and he hastily turned each disk until it read back to him his answer. The _loudest_ “God _yes_ “ left his mouth when the lock clicked open and Akira thanked every god listening that he was alone for the first time since getting stuck here. Like he needed anyone hearing him right now.

 

The room was full of wooden carvings of trees, the one in the middle the only one with an apple. Akira clenched his hands and inhaled sharply. Of course, the apple was for the pair of lips in the wall. In all honesty, he wasn't sure what he was expecting but this actually made him upset.

 

With the wooden apple in one hand and the rose in the other he made his way back, narrowly missing a surprise inky hand jutting from the wall. Just when he'd forgotten.

 

“Hungry... Give... food... That food... Give to me...”  
  
“The... the apple...?”  
  
Like he was going to argue with a pair of lips. He put the apple into its mouth—well, tossed it in to avoid the gnashing teeth. His entire body shuddered hard as the abrasive noise of whatever the lips were made of munched away at wood, each chomp digging into his skin little by little. Finally, when it had just about all the wood chewing it could handle, the mouth spoke.

 

“This tasty... I let you pass now... Go through my mouth...”  
  
“Go through your _what_?”

 

Sure enough, the mouth opened wide enough for him to fit through and showed no signs that it was ever moving in the first place. At this point, Akira gave up trying to understand the demented gallery and obeyed, carefully lifting his feet through the lips and ducking to avoid the teeth. The next room was still the same shade of yellow with paintings of guillotines lining the wall in front of him, each one going slightly higher and he just _knew_ what would happen if he got to the end. Sure enough, at the top of the stairs he booked it and felt the ground quake as the blade slammed down behind him.

 

“I hate this place, but at least it's predictable,” he said, running as fast as he could down the stairs and into a red room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update this aaaah, personal issues got in the way so I had to put off working on it. Yusuke will come in the next chapter! With the exception of Akira (since Ib doesn't talk) and Yusuke (since Garry's regular lines won't work in this), the dialogue from the NPCs are pretty much right from the game.


	3. Red Area

So far, the red area wasn't as nauseatingly filled with puzzles like the last one, but somehow that just made it worse. Still, Akira couldn't help the small rush of relief when he saw the path was linear and actually felt like an art gallery. He kept his hand against the wall as he walked, looking around the hallway. This place right here felt like a haunted mansion with its empty hallways, each creaking sound startling him and each jump made his injuries hurt more. His white shirt was still wet with blood and his bones ached with fractures; his ears rung and all he could taste was copper as a headache dully throbbed with the ringing. In his hand was the rose, a withered and sad looking thing.

 

A few more minutes of walking brought him to a door—and a hallway but all it did was lead to a sinister-looking painting. This door wasn't locked and Akira sighed with relief, so thankful he didn't have to go around looking for a key. Pushing open the door led him to a straightforward looking room with two statues, divided by a wall with a single frame in the middle. The room branched off in the back, forming an M-shape with a door in the bend.

 

The door was locked—of course—but nothing in the room even remotely looked like a puzzle which frustrated Akira. It made him almost miss the nauseating yellow area. “Maybe the paintings might have a clue?”

 

So he started from the left and looked at and behind the art on the walls, hoping he could find a key or a clue to where it might be. He got the smoking gentleman admonishing him for touching his frame instead and the last one showed him what his heartbeat looked like—which probably would've been more fun had he not been in the art gallery from hell. The sculptures were no better—the blue one was appropriately named “Uh” while the red one was “Ah” yet neither had anything for him. "Peacock Pattern" hurt his eyes, and it along with “Heart Wounds” had no key nor clues. The portrait of a lady in a red dress didn't have anything either; yet when he turned his back to it he turned around when he heard glass break.

 

And the lady in the portrait was halfway out of her frame, gaining on him like some scene from _The Ring._

 

“Hey what the fuck?!”

 

She scrambled wildly, chasing him across the room and almost trapping him in the corners a few times, making terrifying growling sounds each time she got close to him. She hunted him down relentlessly, forcing him to run around the statues and wall. His heart pounded and his wounds throbbed as he tried to outpace her, his legs wobbling dangerously with each sharp turn until he caught a sparkle on the floor. He wanted to scream—it was where _she_ was.

 

The lady in red swiped at his ankle and he nearly toppled forward with a screech. No point in trying to outlast what was essentially a demon at his feet.

 

Mustering every ounce of strength he had Akira dashed forward to where the portrait once was, sliding to pick the key up as fast as he could with the rose in one hand. The lady rushed at him with a growl and he sidestepped, holding back a cry as her nails slashed through the leg of his pants and he was off once more, a single petal falling behind them. To his relief, he heard a dull thud and a cursory glance behind him showed that the painting slammed into the wall, giving him time to run to the door. His hands trembled violently as he tried to unlock the door, cursing whenever he got the key backwards.

 

His worst nightmare was coming true with every passing second, trying to open a locked door while somebody—or in this case, something—chased after him. The doorknob rattled every time he missed the lock and he was _desperate._

 

“Oh please please please don't do this please unlock please _please—YES!_ ”

 

The door gave way and in one quick shot he ran forward and slammed the door behind him. He was in a small library, though his observations were cut short when he heard angry fists rap at the door.

 

He waited.

 

Nothing.

 

He let loose a shuddering sigh as he sank to the floor, feeling his entire body melt into static. His body was feeling too weak to be okay. He was dying—he knew he was. But the room he was in as far as he could tell didn't have any vases for his rose and a sob threatened to come up from his throat; the weight of the situation was sinking in.

 

But he couldn't give up now.

 

Searching through the books he forced himself to focus solely on finding the key to get out of the room. None of the books were hostile from what he could see and here there weren't any paintings to be mindful of, helping him in his task. He did find a book that both eased his fear and compounded it, detailing how the women in the canvas “become fond of any human they see” and that they couldn't open doors on their own. Another book was filled with Madarame's works, although none seemed to have a consistent style and at the end of that row was a note he quickly threw away from him.

 

_'H A V I N G F U N ?'_

 

One book was out of place, a sloppily made book drawn in crayon about a girl accidentally eating a key in the king's bread instead of the coin that should've been there. Before he could feel sick after seeing the blood-covered crayon cartoon say she'd found the key, the door loudly unlocked.

 

He loudly thanked whichever gods listened as he hurried out of the room.

 

Akira didn't cry often, but the sight of the bright blue vase almost reduced him to tears. Putting the withered rose in, he crumpled to the ground as every ache and wound repaired itself. Of course, it was also unnerving just how _nice_ he felt whenever he put the rose into the water, erasing all of the pain he felt as though it never existed. It didn't do his mental health any good, but god if it didn't at least put his mind at ease, no longer dying.

 

He  _definitely_ didn't cry out in pure joy when he realised the water in the vase didn't disappear on him.

 

After a minute of catching his breath (and a bit of a cry, if he was going to be completely honest) he walked around, trying to work out what this room demanded of him. His blood ran cold, though, when he came upon a room to the left of the eternal vase of water. It was just a little bit past an empty vase, flanked with posters of the same exact message he got when he took his red rose.

 

A plaque missing it's portrait of a lady in blue.

 

Blood on the floor.

 

And a trail of _blue_ petals.

 

The door was locked which _frustrated_ him, and he felt panic squeeze his chest. “Someone—someone has to—be—they have to be here, right? Where...?”

 

So he sprinted out of the room and down the hall, begging and praying that he wasn't full of false hope, that those petals meant someone else was here, with him.

 

And then he found him.

 

He was on the floor, groaning in pain and clutching a key in one of his hands, his black jacket covering up most of his body. His blue-black hair drenched in sweat was partially hidden by the white collar and covered the pained look on his face. Was he one of the patrons he remembered seeing? Akira could hardly place him there, despite how the uniqueness of his jacket.

 

Was his rose in that locked door?

 

“...Hey!”

 

“It....... hurts........”

 

His breath caught and he rushed forward.  
  
“Hey-hey, I need your key okay?” he said softly, messing with his hand gently as he could until he had a small key. The person whimpered in pain, and Akira was acutely aware of slashes on his person. Rubbing his shoulders sent him into a hacking fit, filling Akira with dread. He'd be dead soon if he didn't find that blue rose—which he didn't know even _existed_. “I'll—I'll be back I promise.”

 

The distance from the person he found and the locked door seemed even longer, even when he was sprinting as fast as he could. Even with all of the nightmare-inducing tricks this place had to offer, knowing that someone else was _here_ and could die if he wasn't fast enough was hands down the worst. His stomach dropped remembering the woman in red and wondered once he got to the door if this what could've been his fate if he wasn't quick enough. Though, the posters had him wondering if the person face down in pain just _got_ the same kind of rose he had, only to be met with a lethal painting.

 

This was straight up _evil._

 

Unlocking the door brought him to a very small room, an installation right across from him of a tent. To his left was a stool, a window, and a woman in a blue dress with the world's saddest blue rose, plucking petals from it. Nausea pooled in his stomach and adrenaline raced through his veins each step he took towards her, putting his rose in front of him. _This has to work,_ he thought. _The book said they can't use doors right? What about a window?_

 

“Loves me... Loves me not...”  
  
“HEY!”

 

She jerked her head up violently, once lovely features twisted into something that reminded Akira of a snake. He waved his red rose in front of him. “Wouldn't you rather play with this one? It's prettier than the one you have.”  


The portrait threw the mangled flower aside and set after him with a roar, eager for a new toy. Akira ran, slamming the door and watched the window in anticipation. Fists pounded on the glass just like he'd hoped and she broke right through it, sending shards everywhere and looking around for him. Quickly he went back for the rose, gently holding it to preserve its last two petals. Just looking at it made him feel panicked and nauseous, and the angry growling of the painting outside outright _terrified_ him. He had someone's _life_ right here in his hands.

 

Leaving the room was easier said than done; upon realizing she'd been duped she crawled after him fervently, screaming. She pounded against the door howling, demanding Akira come back to “play” with her.  
  
“Fat chance. Now... into the vase you go,” he sighed. Pure, unadulterated joy swept throughout him seeing the rose blossom after hitting the water; a few tears rolled down his cheeks from the rush of emotion. Looking at the rose alongside his, neither looked real; the petals felt too much like satin with a sheen that reminded him of one of his mother's more formal dresses, and the green was the same colour as pure pigment, making them both look like miniature paintings in his hand. They were incredibly nice to look at, but if he did look at them too long then his eyes began to hurt. “As much as I hate roses now, they sure are beautiful,” he murmured.

 

 

“Are you okay...?”  
  
“.....Mmm..........”  
  
He couldn't have been much older than Akira, but his face was too defined for any 16-year-old he'd ever seen, but he didn't look much older than him either. His arms shook picking his upper body up the floor and his eyes struggled to focus. “...What's this? The pain's gone...? Hah...”

 

“Hey—“

 

Of course he yelled when he saw Akira, which he couldn't blame him for since he nearly _died._ He shoved himself back and up from the floor, breathing hard. He was taller than he was, and Akira saw just how thin he was and Akira wondered if he was a model of some kind. The coat was fashionable—at least, to him it was; he didn't want to hear what Ann had to say about it; his clothes blotches nearly everywhere from where he'd been bleeding, ruining them. _  
  
_ “Wh-what is it _now_!? I—I have nothing left for you to take, I tell you!”

 

“I'm not—you're from the gallery right?” Akira put his hands up and hoped he could see just how fucked up he looked too.

 

“W-wait... You're from the gallery?” He stared at Akira and relaxed, smiling just before he ran forward, putting his hands on his shoulders. “Oh, thank heavens! So you are!”

 

“You-how did you get here?”

 

Akira didn't realize how weak he felt until the mystery person led him to a wall where he collapsed, sitting down next to him. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Those—those fucking women are so _fast_.”

 

Even if it was exasperated, the sound of another person's laughter sounded like sweet music to Akira.

 

“Do you know how you got here though?” he asked again, holding out the blue rose. His eyes widened and took it gently, caressing it. His face twisted in pain looking at it, and Akira noticed the glance he gave his red rose. “All I could remember is that everyone disappeared and I got led into some weird painting and... now I'm here.”

 

“...I suppose you don't know as to how or why this is all happening, either? I'm afraid I don't have any answers... From the sound of things I believe our situations are much the same.” He held up his blue rose, scrutinizing it. “Wounds appear when this rose loses its petals, linking us together.”  
  
He closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his head on his knees. “I... really believed I wasn't going to make it, I'm indebted to you. I mean that.”

 

Akira twisted a lock of hair between his fingers, looking away. Some part of him screamed at him for trusting a complete stranger in an art gallery that actively tried to kill him, but he sounded so earnest it endeared him to his new friend. “You're really laying it on thick but uh, it's the least I could do. We should try finding a way out, together then.”

 

“Yes, I think I'll go mad if I continue staying in this... dreadful place.”

 

“What's your name though, it's a little hard having someone in your debt if you don't even know their name, yanno?” He leaned over playfully, enjoying the change of pace. It all felt so... nice.

 

“Ah, how rude of me—I forgot to ask your name,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “You have my apologies. I'm Yusuke Kitagawa, a second year at Kosei, and you are?”

 

“Akira Sakura, second year at—“

 

“Shujin, I recognize the uniform.”

 

Akira saw the way his eyes lingered just at the now brown stain on his white shirt under the blazer and looked away. They both knew what the other had gone through in a general sense, yet it didn't stop Akira from feeling so vulnerable. Sitting down with someone after being trapped in the gallery felt too nice to give up, but they had to move on. “We should get going, it's too dangerous to just sit around like this,” he said eventually.

 

Yusuke nodded. The weight of the situation came back and broke up whatever good mood the two were in. “It'd be best given our circumstances, I just hope we can find the end soon...”

 

They picked themselves up, Yusuke helping Akira up and both of them discovering that his legs fell asleep. “And I certainly can't let you wander into danger alone.”  
  
“Gee, thanks.”

 

Akira couldn't help the howling laugh the way Yusuke _screeched_ when the painting spat at him. His new friend flushed and hurried forward. “I was startled!”

 

The room beyond the hall only had a door with a mannequin in front of it, the sight of which froze Akira in his place, remembering the last one that chased him. Yusuke stopped just in front of it, brows furrowed. “Would it be wise to move it? I'm worried it might come to life just as with the other painting...”

 

“Well... It's so suspicious I doubt it would, but let's be careful just in case,” he cautioned, going to one side of it and taking an arm. It was solid, feeling an awful lot like stone. Yusuke went over to the other side, not before putting his rose in his mouth. “Alright, heave!”

 

Moving it was difficult; it was so much heavier than it let on and they both struggled to move it far enough away so they could get to the door. Even with the two of them, the task took a full minute and by the end, they were out of breath (though, no petals were lost).

 

“Let's—get a move on, yeah?” Akira opened the door and looked at Yusuke, gasping between words. Yusuke was no better, only nodding in response. “I'll catch you if you fall, so don't worry.”

 

And they moved on to the grey area.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your nice comments and kudos!! I just came back from a week long vacation but reading them really made the trip better aaa
> 
> Finally Yusuke shows up! Some of Garry's lines fit really well for him so some of his dialogue is from the game. I'm going to try and break up the next few rooms up so it won't be an area per chapter just to make sure they aren't going to be too long and take forever to put out.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!


	4. Grey Area

The hands.

 

Akira remembered a zombie movie he'd once seen with Futaba where the undead pushed their hands up through the dirt, and the same fear he felt then filled his chest. There were hands— _massive_ hands—jutting from the floor, writhing and flexing in all of their perverse glory.

 

These _fucking_ hands.

 

Though he had someone else with him, it hardly made Akira feel at ease. They various greys that decorated the room's walls made the room feel cold, and he shivered walking to the two paintings at the rear of the room.

 

"The grieving bride and groom huh? Man, that's depressing..." he muttered. Both of them were similarly miserable—with the slouched posture and morose faces that belonged at a wake. Yusuke meanwhile walked around the hands, his gaze flitting from finger to finger, though his stiff and pale appearance betrayed him. Akira found himself glancing at him more often than he'd like, studying the _awful_ hands too—just in case.

 

"She's missing her wedding band... Perhaps we're to find it?" That snapped Akira back into focus. He lowered his gaze to the hand Yusuke was at, and frowned.

 

"She?"

 

“It says _'Grieving Bride's Left Hand'_ on the plaque.”

 

Sure enough, it did. “Alright but... how do you know... she's missing the ring?”

 

Yusuke looked up, staring at him, registering his words before his cheeks flushed and looked away. As one does when caught red-handed. "I..." He coughed. “I might _know_ these works of art, considering I'm in Kosei's Fine Arts department...”

 

"Then... You should know these paintings?" Akira asked stepping a bit closer. Yusuke focused hard on a painting, seeing and ignoring it all at once.

 

"Not all of them, but hopefully I'll remember enough to help us..."

 

Words of confidence.

 

Leaving the narrow hallway brought them to two hallways intersecting in the shape of an L, an alcove to their right and door to their left. It took no time to agree that exploration first was their best bet, and they continued forward.

 

“Please tell me that snake isn't going to come to life.” Akira stopped, his gaze fixed on a large, white snake in a purple frame at the very end of the hall. Yusuke made a small noise, his eyes lighting up.

“I know that painting! Though it seems to be missing its eye.”

 

If the painting's incomplete, then it was good enough for him and they continued forward. They got to a room and a hall just past where they stopped and turned to go down secondary hall, stopping right at the bend.

 

"What the hell is that?" Akira asked, mouth slightly open. A frame at the very end held a painting, its features melting and solidifying as it moved. It's eyes moved constantly and separately, similar to a chameleon but this sight made Akira's stomach tighten. A gentle hand pushed his chin up, snapping him out of his daze and he flushed red before thanking Yusuke.

 

"Nothing is straightforward here, is it?," Yusuke said. He moved behind him, taking hold of one of his arms and the sinking feeling in Akira's stomach worsened.

 

"Ehehehe, hehehehehe... Flowers... flowers're nice... Give me that there flower and I'll let you through... ehehe..." it whispered, an echo to its voice.

 

" _No._ "

 

He almost lost his balance when Yusuke pulled him back; his lithe fingers had his arm in a solid grip. The painting's laugh withered into a whine, yet its perpetually moving facial features remained the same.

 

"Aw, I'm begging you... I just wanna have a sniiiiiiiiff..."

 

"Let's leave, Akira." was the last thing Akira heard coherently before loud, devilish laughter filled their ears. Even back at the entrance to the narrow hallway, the ringing in their ears didn't subside for several minutes.

 

Neither did the grip Yusuke had on Akira's arm.

 

He nudged the cool hand politely as one can whist they're shooing someone off their body. “I—uh, thank you but this is a little too close...”

 

“Er, yes of—of course.”

 

“The bride has a bouquet,” Akira said, twisting a lock of hair, “think if we get her ring we'll get the bouquet too? Don't Western weddings have a bouquet toss?” Akira leaned against a wall next to a door across from Yusuke, the first door they saw when they entered. His new companion's brows furrowed.

 

“You mean to give to the painting?” The creases on his forehead deepened and dropped his head back sighing. “Is this what you meant by puzzles?”

 

His frustration radiated from him in waves, nearly frustrating Akira in turn. Ah—but he didn't go through any puzzles did he? He'd been attacked almost immediately after he got his rose, and Akira cursed inwardly—he'd forgotten. So he went over his words in his head and twisted a lock of hair in his fingers. “Unfortunately, yeah. But it's the only way out as far as I know... But if I could scrape by on my own then we can get through this fine—together.”

 

It came out more 'anime-protagonist-giving-hopeful-speech' than he'd meant to, but his companion's features softened with renewed hope and made it alright. Akira opened door he was next to and they both went in, only to stop immediately once past the threshold. They stopped just short of a wall, much too close for it to be normal.

 

And a plaque that said ' _Labyrinth'_.

 

“Don't tell me...”  
  
“Fuck me—we have to go through a _maze_?” Akira dropped his head into his hands and exhaled hard. Of all the things that could've been behind the door, they got a maze. Something—a lot of something—shuffled within the maze. “Could—could you lead the way? I think I'm going to have an aneurysm... This is an art piece right? Do you know it...?”

 

He winced when he saw how Yusuke paled. This wasn't good.

 

“You want me to lead...? I don't know this instillation very well but... I'll do my best...”

 

Akira felt his cool—and unsurprisingly clammy—hand and they moved to the right. He bit back the urge to whimper when a mannequin walked past a gap, fully expecting it to chase after them. Yusuke's trembling worsened and his grip turned iron; he saw it too. They took it as a sign when it didn't chase after them and pressed forward. At some twist in the labyrinth Akira pressed himself against Yusuke's back, gripping onto his jacket until his knuckles went white.

 

There's a primal fear in being in a room, filled with narrow hallways and knowing there are monsters there with you. The sensation of being hunted, not knowing where the path leads nor where the hunters are.

 

It is _agony_.

 

They stopped after a whist in a corner, where Akira unconsciously holds Yusuke closer—not as though either minded. Yusuke's voice was a soft whisper. “There's a note, _'South of the red paint'._ ”

 

“Does it mean like, paint on the walls or uh—fuck what does paint come in for artists?” Akira twisted a lock of hair, looking to Yusuke for an answer. He looked fairly surprised, but his eyes sparkled with the sort of delight that made Akira's heart ache, all circumstance considered. It was a nice sight in such a gloomy place.

 

A growl and a flash of black and red sent shockwaves up their spine before the artist could answer and they ran. Yusuke's grip on his hand in any other situation would be frightening (the red petal that fell confirmed he'd accidentally broken something in Akira's hand) but in this singular moment it was one of the most comforting things. The upper-left corner was mostly a dead end that looped, perfect to get trapped in, and a note about mazes on the column.

 

_There's a trick to solving mazes... Hug the right hand side and you'll reach the end eventually._

 

“Not a bad trick... But it doesn't help with those creatures loitering around... Let's be careful, Akira.” Yusuke squeezed his hand and hurried back out, stopping after a few paces.

 

“What?”

 

“It's... red paint. On the floor.”

 

“Well... Go south then,” Akira said,pushing against his back. He could feel both of their pounding heartbeats and wondered if Yusuke's chest ached just as bad as his. The growling increased by the time they got to the end of the section of maze, and there in front of them was a switch in the wall. It looked just like a switch in a smartphone. Of course, it meant hurriedly drying any fingers sweaty from nerves to get a good grip, a loud rumbling sounding through the area not too long after Akira finally fumbled his way into flipping the switch. Yusuke exhaled, quivering at the end.

 

“What was that?”  
  


A growl and a heavy, cement hand answered for him.

 

Yusuke yelped and this time it was Akira who pulled Yusuke along before they could die in the maze, shoving him hard to an opening. The artist clutched his arm, and in the short moment when the searing pain in his bad hand combined with Akira wondering if Yusuke was alright, the mannequin slammed a fist into his side.

 

_Do you like mazes?_

 

They finally reached the exit and slammed the door behind them, falling to the floor, trying to force air into their lungs. Akira winced with every breath, tears prickling at the edges of his eyes and he knew his ribs were broken again. He tried to sit up, and was about to settle for rolling over on his back when Yusuke gave him a hand.

 

Ah, that's right. He wasn't alone anymore.

 

“Please tell me you're alright,” he said between wheezes, finally sitting upright. Just talking sent him coughing, the taste of copper filling his mouth.

 

“I should be asking you that...” Yusuke leaned against the wall across from him, pallid, breathing erratically and beads of sweat rolling down his face. There was a cut on the arm of the jacket, a large, brightly coloured bruise peaking out from it. Despite that, he smiled weakly. “We... need to find a vase, right?”  
  


“...If I give you my rose, can you go for me? There's one just before the room I found ya in.”

 

He shut his eyes when the room shifted, and became acutely aware of the state he was in; there was no way he could keep himself conscious long enough to make it back to the eternal vase of water. Just talking hurt, and he swore when something hot and wet streamed down his face.

  
“Of course, you did the same for me—er, technically?”

 

 

Akira wondered if this was how Yusuke felt when he revived him.

 

Of course, minus the screaming—but that part was understandable given the circumstances.

 

The instant pain relief and sensation of bones reconnecting made him nauseous, but did he relish being free from the agonising pain. When he'd gotten his bearings a bruise-free Yusuke and his own red rose greeted him.

 

True to his word, he healed his rose and came back.

 

So now they were aimlessly wandering. The switch in the labyrinth opened up a door, with surreal statues as the only things inside. When they saw that none of the art pieces were an immediate threat (and seeing _nothing_ of use), they left the room back at square one.

 

They were stuck and walking with no real plan—until they got to the eyes.

 

“What is _that_!?” Yusuke screamed, jumping behind a stiff Akira. “Why are there _eyes_ on the _floor_!?”

 

“I wouldn't know!”  
  


First the  _fucking_ hands and now  _fucking_ eyes.

 

_This has the worst part of the gallery,_ Akira thought, traipsing between each individual eyeball. He'd put up with a lot—but  _eyes_ ? Eyes were too much, and he found himself closing his own eyes and making Yusuke take over as the lead a second time. He did open them when his companion stopped in front of an irritated and red eye.

 

“D-does that lone eye have a congestion problem?”  
  
“Does it need eye drops...?”

 

Akira smiled sheepishly at the hard look Yusuke gave him.

 

Sure enough, in the last room they hadn't checked were the eye drops, sitting at the back of the room. Problem was, the room had about a million stools and easels blocking the way. The easels didn't move, yet the stools could be moved, but it seemed silly to push them out of the way so Akira settled for walking over the stools. Yusuke meanwhile, stood at the beginning, eyes closed and pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“So do you want to give it the eye drops or am I?” It was _completely_ childish but Akira delighted in the hard glare Yusuke gave the bottle that he was waving in his hand.

 

The delight left when it came time to  _actually_ administer the drops to the eye, and Akira waited at the end of the hall for Yusuke to hurry up. While dribbling the drops wasn't as bad as either of them thought, the worst part had to have been when the newly cleared eye disappeared underneath the floor,  _moved_ , and reappeared at a section of wall painted a slightly different colour.

 

“Oh I hate this area so much,” Akira whispered, shuddering. Yusuke pressed his head against a wall eyes closed, shuddering too. These _fucking_ eyes.

 

Still, the wall looked promising; they each placed a hand over the discolouration and pushed, and they both gasped when a passage opened up to a room. Nothing remarkable at first glance, save for the eerie, way it stretched out and the cold draft that hit their faces.

 

_Ah—_ something glimmered at the very end.

 

Akira would take the draughty hall over eyes any day, and wasted no time in running to the end as Yusuke called out for him to wait. There he picked up what was on the floor: a red, crystalline glass eye.

 

A glass  _snake_ eye.

 

For what seemed to be the third time thus far Yusuke grabbed Akira's hand and ran to the white snake painting. Now  _this_ sort of puzzle was a lot more enjoyable than giving a giant, sentient eye some eye drops. Just like magic when they reunited the snake with its eye, the painting next to it fell to the ground. Akira picked it up, turning it over in his hands and found a message written in—sure enough—paint on the back.

 

“It says _'Behind the big tree...'_ but where've we seen a big tree...?”

 

“Oh! Its in the room with all the sculptures!”

 

Akira  _really_ should've expected it when Yusuke pulled him towards the front.

 

The room had a 'tree', but it was really a tree sculpture made to look vaguely— _very_ vaguely—like a person. There was also a beautiful  _'Wine Sofa'_ , a bust with a melting face, and a skeleton with each bone painted a different colour. Yusuke set out to look behind  _'Feeling'_ whist Akira took advantage of the room's safety and the artist's knowledge.

 

“Is this real glass?”  
  
“I believe so.”  
  
“How'd they make it...?”

 

“I'm afraid I wouldn't know that...”

 

“Hey...”

 

“Please don't sit in it—ah!”

 

He frowned and walked over to Yusuke, the loveliest wedding ring he'd ever seen in his hand. Akira should've been happy they finally found the last piece of the puzzle, but Yusuke said nothing and continued staring at the ring. Said artist frowned and looked at Akira expectantly.

 

“What is it?” he asked. A bead of sweat rolled down the nape of his neck.

 

“I'm not touching her hand.” And with that he tossed the ring at Akira.

 

No.

 

Anything but  _that_ .

 

But there was no choice, he had to put the ring on her finger if they wanted to get her bouquet. Granted, he wasn't going to be  _happy_ he had to do it. He didn't know what to expect, but the way the massive hand felt like human flesh, warm and alive and the way the fingers brushed against his own after slipping the ring on  _certainly_ wasn't anywhere close.

 

The couple smiled in their frames, and the now  _'Blessed Bride'_ tossed her bouquet up out of view  _within_ her frame, only for it to fall at their feet  _outside_ of her frame. The artist picked it up, holding his breath and Akira saw why: it was  _gorgeous._ It was a mound of pink roses and tulips, wrapped in white with a pink ribbon tied to keep the bundle secure. Unlike real flowers, these ones were perfect.

 

“Do we have to...?” Yusuke whined. He reluctantly began the walk to the horrible painting, gazing longingly at the flowers. He wanted to draw the flowers, and Akira forced himself to look somewhere else.

 

“We—uh, yes? We... need to get out of here,” he reminded him. The artist sighed, and walked the rest of the way to the painting without a word.

 

"Flowers... flowers're nice... Give me that there flower and I'll let you through..." it whispered between its laughs. Not much for conversation.

 

“Here, take this bouquet.” Really he all but tossed it into its frame, but the bouquet melded into the painting seamlessly.

 

“Thanks... it smells niiice...” Its laughs echoed in their ears once again and Akira's stomach dropped.  
  
“Is that all—”

 

“Well, chow time!”

 

Of _course._ The blues in the painting turned red right before it, well, devoured the bouquet. Akira stared in horrified fascination whilst Yusuke turned away, hand pressed to his mouth.  
  
“Ahhh, that was good... Thank you, thanks so much... As promised, you can go through.” And with that, it turned into a painting of a door.

 

“Well,” Akira started, “Let's see if the next area won't help us find a way out.” He smiled earnestly and clapped a hand on the artists shoulder, and got a smile in return.

 

Without his new companion—could he call him a friend yet?—he wouldn't have gotten this far, especially if he considered what happened in the  _'Labyrinth'_ . Akira had gotten up to the red room all on his own, but he'd been so miserable. Hell, after the mannequin attacked in the maze it left him unable to even  _walk._ But here they solved the puzzle in no time _together_ and being here with Yusuke made him feel...

 

_Hopeful._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry for taking so long to update this!! A lot of things happened and to make a long story short I had a bit of a mental crisis;;
> 
> I finally have free time to update, so here is chapter 4 after so long! I hope you enjoy and I always appreciate your comments <3


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